The Wounds of the Land
by Tricklepen
Summary: Fighting Ferelden's enemies and helping those around her are the only ways Rowyn Cousland knows to heal her own pain.
1. First Blood

_**So here it is - the first chapter of my first fanfic, which honestly is the first fictional piece I've written for over a decade. I would LOVE comments, advice, etc. Enjoy!  
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_**Hopefully the remaining chapters will unfold from my fingers soon!**_

_**And, of course - Bioware has the rights to this story. **_

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><p>Rowyn stumbled, and the blackness throbbed before her eyes, threatening to take over completely. She was hanging on to her learned discipline with the last grains of her willpower, fighting the crushing in her lungs and her chest, fighting the weakness and the pain – fighting the tears. Duncan was ahead of her, gliding through the grass like a lion, silent and powerful. She must keep up. She – must – keep – up.<p>

The events of the night roared in her mind, tumbling over each other - so loud, it was white noise. It was a tidal wave of emotions and recent memories, no one thought gaining the upper hand over another. Too much to face. She clung to the simple act of following Duncan, and this had gotten her through for the last hour. But fatigue and trauma were setting in quickly.

The air turned to syrup, pushing against her limbs. Her vision shimmered and seemed to bend. Rowyn came to a stop, raised her hand before her eyes - then folded to the ground, unseeing.

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><p>While Rowyn was avoiding her thoughts, Duncan cursed and screamed inside. Andraste's flaming sword, he would NOT die at the hands of these greedy scoundrels – not with the approaching Blight. What a waste of good men and women. What a ridiculous and unnecessary interruption of his plans. Fools! Don't they know there's great evil ready to overtake them all? And one recruit– only one! – to show for it, with no time to sweep the surrounding villages. He'd expected to do that <em>after<em> recruiting Rowyn; he'd expected more to join when they saw that the teyrn's daughter had been recruited. That was not an option, not now. It was best if Rowyn was not seen in this vicinity.

Duncan had deep respect for Bryce Cousland and his teyrna, and several very fond memories; his grief was a hard knot tucked away in his heart, to confront later. Survival was the main issue at hand. The girl was tough, very tough – what beastliness and suffering she had experienced tonight! – but he knew she would not last much longer. 'Just a little longer, just a little farther ….' he kept urging, silently. He was amazed at how well she imitated his stealth – he could barely hear her, and he was only five or so strides in front of her in a grassy field.

He knew there was a stream, and a hunter's hut not too far from here. The hut was low, and made to blend in with the surrounding environment. It looked more like a bramble pile than anything, and would likely not be recognizable to any of Howe's men, should they come looking for himself and Rowyn. They were close – there! There was the stream. Duncan paused to get his bearings. Yes, the hut should be a half mile or so downstream -

He turned to share this news with Rowyn, and paused. Her hand was raised before her, eyes unfocused, her body swaying. Cursing, he rushed back towards her, but not before she crumpled to the ground. The grass made it a soft landing, fortunately.

Duncan turned her to her back, checked her pulse. Her face was swollen and a quiltwork of bruises, and sticky with drying blood in various places. In fact, her eyes were so swollen that it was hard to tell if they were closed because of the swelling or because she was unconscious, but he called her name and squeezed her hand repeatedly, and she did not respond.

Carefully but with haste, he lifted her and folded her over his back, and started walking towards the stream. He hoped he was right about the distance.

* * *

><p>Rowyn floated towards consciousness unwillingly. Someone was bothering her – jostling her, shaking her arms. It was greatly annoying. "Mother…." She garbled, drowsily. "Lemme alone…"<p>

"Shhhhhh, hush, now," said her mother, but her mother had a man's voice. Rowyn struggled to put this together. She couldn't open her eyes, and she hurt so badly. Why did she hurt so badly? Something about some men …. One with a chain . . . her father and blood, blood, so much blood . .. a room, and those men. Those men . . . She must be back in that room . . . that room . . . that . . . And clarity suddenly blinded her mind. In terror, she started thrashing. The man was trying to rip off her leather leggings. She was so weak, but she didn't have the strength not to fight – she didn't have the strength to let it happen again . . . not again . . .

"Rowyn! Stop! Stop! Be still! Hush! It's me – Duncan! Stop, Rowyn! I'm trying to help – shhhh." She didn't know or remember who Duncan was, but he sounded kind, and the blackness was creeping back into her mind. She let it overtake her again.

Duncan held her as she grew weaker and slowly ended her struggling. He brushed the hair off her forehead, out of one of several shallow gashes. They were next to the stream; the hut was nearby. He went on with his task, removing her leggings and tunic, as gently as he could. The leather armor lay in a neat pile next to them. It was chilly, so he did his work as quickly as possible, keeping the thin blanket over the rest of her body as he washed away the blood and cleaned her wounds, one limb at a time. It became meditative for him, and his inner turmoil subsided as her blood was rinsed from the rag, diluted by the stream's currents.

The sun was beginning to rise when he finished, the dim light turning the surrounding land pink and gold. In the hut were a bed roll and a few other supplies. Duncan was grateful for the bed roll. He laid Rowyn upon it, and decided she may be more comfortable on her stomach. And it would be safer if she needed to sick up, as sometimes happened with head wounds. He covered her with the blanket and turned onto his side, relying on his cloak for warmth. It was not long before he, too, was dead to the world.

Over the next three days, they waited. Well, mainly, Duncan waited. He waited for Rowyn to awaken, he waited for her to heal and gather strength, and he waited for Howe's men to give up looking for them. There were several close calls the first day – several groups were within hearing distance of their hut – but he had been careful to disguise any signs of their presence near the hut and stream. Rowyn did not fully awaken until the morning of the second day.

They had grabbed a few items from the kitchen shelves during their escape. Rowyn was almost silent at breakfast of the second day, asking only a few basic questions before falling quiet. It was just as well. Duncan was not a talkative man unless the situation called for it. Today, the fourth day, he watched as she slowly brought pieces of bread to her mouth, eyes cast downward. She ate as though it was painful. It probably was.

"Are we leaving today?" she asked, breaking the silence.

"I was hoping we might. How do you feel?" He asked.

"I think I am well enough to walk."

" Very good. Let us finish breakfast and then we should be off. It is a long walk." Duncan said.

Rowyn nodded and finished her food in silence.

On the road, Rowyn's quickness surprised Duncan. He had expected her to be reluctant to leave behind her homeland. Instead, she seemed as though she would have run from it, if she could. He had expected that he would have to convince her to keep going when she wanted frequent breaks, but he found himself instead convincing her to rest when he could see the weakness at last creeping into her. It gave rise to, at once, great admiration and great worry for her. But he knew that the battle was coming too soon, and they would have to make good time or arrive too late, and he had promised the King he would be back in time. Duncan abhorred going back on his word – even if the interference of the greedy bastard, Howe, was to blame.


	2. Deepening

**_I expect to make changes to this eventually. As always, comments are more than welcomed!_**

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><p>At long last, they arrived at Ostagar. The bruises on Rowyn's face had faded to yellow-brown, the swelling long gone thanks to Duncan's poultices. He was no Healer, but he'd learned some tricks on the battlefield through the years. She was grateful to him.<p>

And yet . . . Rowyn could not help but feel resentful. She knew it was not his fault, or even really a fault at all, but she felt such an overwhelming sense of . . . shame . . . in Duncan's presence. Shame that he had seen her like that – so fragile, so vulnerable, so –

She shook her head, and tried to pay attention to him as he recited a brief history of Ostagar.

"… and that is why the King believes this to be such a fitting place to face the Darkspawn. Ah, and speaking of the King. . . "

King Cailan and a few of his men were coming to greet them as they arrived.

"Ho, there, Duncan!" King Cailan called out as he came before them.

Duncan bowed his head respectfully. "King Cailan. I hardly expected-"

"- a royal welcome? I was beginning to think you'd miss all the fun!" The King laughed.

"Not if I could help it, your Majesty."

They chatted for the next couple minutes. Rowyn had seen King Cailan before, from a distance. . . her parents were emphatically loyal, but the rumors of the King's philandering gave them reason to be cautious about allowing their only daughter too close an encounter. She could see why. He was astoundingly beautiful. Furthermore, he was as excited as a little boy on his name day, practically glowing with energy and anticipation for the upcoming battle. He seemed so . . . innocent . . . but then, so had she, she was sure, until recent events.

"And this must be the newest recruit you've told me about. Lady Cousland, is it not? And how is your father? Will he be arriving soon?" Cailan asked, turning to her and interrupting her thoughts.

It took a moment for her to come back to the present, to his question. She looked down, then back up again, "Then you have not heard the news? Arl Howe and his men overthrew our castle some nights ago. They killed my father. My mother stayed to defend him, thus perishing as well. Duncan …Duncan helped me escape at my father's bidding. ..My king."

Cailan seemed astonished. "Arl Rendon Howe? Why in the name of the Maker would he do such a thing? I can scarcely believe it! How could he think he would get away with such treachery?"

Rowyn remained silent.

"If we had not gotten away, he would have been able to tell you any story at all," Duncan offered.

"Well, he will have justice, but it will have to wait until after the battle. Your brother arrived not long ago, but he is out in the Wilds on a scouting mission now. You will have to wait until he returns to give him the news, I'm afraid. . ." Cailan looked genuinely distressed. "You have my greatest condolences, my Lady. Your father and mother were kind and well respected by many. This is a great tragedy."

"Thank you, my king."

"And now, Duncan, I had better get back to Logain's war council. He will have my head if I am out of his sight too long! Or worse yet, he may send a nanny after me!" Cailan chuckled.

"Indeed, my lord. I am at your service, if you need me."

The king and his men strode off. Rowyn turned to Duncan, questioning.

"The king does not seem overly concerned about this battle. Will it really be as easy a victory as he makes it? My father made it appear to be much more serious."

Duncan lifted an eyebrow, then sighed. "The king is eager for glory, it is true, but I have let him know as well as I can what forces we face. We shall have to put our trust in him."

Rowyn did not think that was exactly a glowing endorsement, but she did not pursue it, and simply nodded.

"In any case, you should go get a few supplies in the camp. When you are ready, seek out a Grey Warden named "Alistair". He is our junior member and will be helping with your Joining. There are also two other recruits somewhere in the camp – Sir Jory and a rogue named Daveth. Meet me back at the large campfire near the mages when you have found them all."

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><p>Rowyn wandered around for a bit, found the quartermaster, and bought some health potions and a few other goods. That was really all she could afford, much as she would like to replace a few of her gear items.<p>

Rowyn felt uncomfortable around this many people – the events of That Night had left her with a constant feeling of filth, shame. She felt she was walking around unclothed, vulnerable – And in the faces of every person she saw recognition, a glint of knowing what a dirty person she was now. These thoughts wove around her mind, very real voices bubbling up to admonish her for her weakness. The voices had been there every moment since awakening in that hut, but with the eyes of all these people turned to her, they grew in numbers, added to this so-called conversation. She told herself they couldn't possibly know . . . but a part of her refused to accept that fact. She moved quickly to her tasks hoping to find a quiet place before this became unbearable.

Quickly, she headed up the ramp, towards the area in which she'd been told Alistair was last seen.

She came across an aggravated mage speaking to a young man with short golden hair.

"… simply been sent to give you a message from the Revered Mother, Ser Mage. She desires your presence." The golden-haired man said, cautiously. Rowyn guessed that this was the Alistair she was looking for.

The mage was obviously in no mood for messages from the revered mother. His eyes were shooting daggers at the messenger, his mouth scowling. "What her Reverence desires is of no matter to me – I am busy helping the Grey Wardens. By the king's orders, I might add!"

"Should I have sent a note?" A tinge of sarcasm was creeping into Alistair's voice.

This had an effect upon the mage's scowl – Rowyn had not thought it possible, but it deepened. "I will – I will not be harassed in such a manner!"

"Right, because **I** was harassing **you** by bringing you a message. . . "

"Your glibness does you no credit!" the mage exclaimed.

"And here I thought we were getting along so well! I was even going to name my child after you – the Grumpy One!" Alistair cracked. Rowyn couldn't help but smile, though she tried to keep it in check – and the mage turned his glare to her. Rowyn held up her hand in apology, looking at the ground. The mage turned back to Alistair, gave him one last, long scowl, and huffed, "Fine, I will go speak to her, if I must!" And he stomped off.

Alistair watched him go. "You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings us all together."

Rowyn smiled sadly, thinking of her family and Arl Howe's treachery. "Yes, I know exactly what you mean."

"It's like a party: We could all stand in a circle and hold hands. That would give the Darkspawn something to think about!" Alistair chuckled, turning with the next witty remark on his lips, then stopped abruptly when his eyes came upon Rowyn.

Rowyn wasn't sure what to say to this. She smiled, but looked down and shuffled her feet. Alistair didn't seem to notice.

"Uh . . . wait, have we met? I don't suppose you're another mage, are you?" he asked, fumbling.

Rowyn quietly laughed. She'd never seen a mage dressed in armor, as she was at the moment. "No, I'm not a mage. My name is Rowyn. You must be Alistair."

"Oh, yes, now I remember – you're the new recruit Duncan mentioned, the one from Highever." He laughed a little nervously. "I should have recognized you right away; I, uh – I apologize."

Rowyn was puzzled. "How could you have recognized me? You've never seen me before . . . have you?"

"Oh, no, no – but Duncan described you very well. He spoke quite highly of you, you know," he added. Rowyn blushed. "You know, it's just occurred to me that there have never been many women in the Grey Wardens. I wonder why that is, heh."

Rowyn stiffened. She would prefer not to be thought of as a woman – but she didn't say that. Instead, she looked Alistair in the eyes and raised her chin, declaring, "I can handle myself better than most."

Alistair laughed. "I'm getting that impression. I'm curious – have you ever fought Darkspawn before?"

Rowyn paused before she replied. "No, only other humans. "

Alistair's nodded thoughtfully. "When I fought my first Darkspawn, it was terrifying. I wasn't prepared for how monstrous it was. I'm not looking forward to fighting another."

Rowyn looked confused, "Uh. Well. . . were you conscripted, then?"

"Haha! No, not quite," he chuckled. "But almost. That's another story. Anyway, why did I become a Grey Warden if I hate fighting Darkspawn, is that what you're really asking? . . . Well. I suppose it was the best use I could find for myself! Better than working for the Chantry as a templar, anyway."

The light went on in Rowyn's mind. "Ah! That explains the mage's ire, then. You were a templar, then?"

"Yes . . . but not by choice. Duncan recruited me about six months ago, saving me from that particular fate. I owe him my life for that," Alistair said, softly.

Rowyn could see the depth of emotion Alistair felt for Duncan. "You speak very fondly of him."

Alistair glanced sideways. "I spent a lot of years in that Chantry, hopelessly resigned to becoming a templar. Duncan was the first person who cared about what I really wanted." He grimaced with a faraway look in his eyes. "What about you?" he added hastily. "What do YOU think of Duncan?"

Rowyn got the impression he was changing the subject. It was the first time it had struck her that she was not the only one with a past she would like to avoid. How many people in this camp had the same desire? Most likely every one, she thought. The thought calmed her. Perhaps this was exactly the place she needed to be. . .

"Rowyn?"

She took in a deep breath, and came back to the question. "Duncan saved me," she said, quietly. "I have not known him as long as you, but I have every reason to think very highly of him."

Alistair nodded. "He's a good man. A good leader. You will see."


	3. Hysteria

'Holy Maker! That woman is going to give herself a heart attack before the day ends!' Alistair thought. He stood transfixed, watching in wonder as she frantically hacked and stabbed at the Darkspawn in front of her. And beside her. And behind her. Duncan had told him she was a rogue, but she was acting decidedly un-roguish, charging in before the others, taking the enemy head on. When they had spied the latest group of Darkspawn – two Genlocks and two Hurlocks – she had rushed ahead, bellowing, before he could stop her. The other two recruits dropped their mouths in amazement and then rushed in, not to be out done by this _woman_. And a very pretty one at that. . .

The moment he'd seen her, standing there waiting for him to stop talking about that fool mage, he'd felt like he'd been punched in the gut. And he'd acted like it, too. . . Forgetting her name, making a point of her being a woman. 'Idiot! Can't you ever say the right thing?' he scolded himself. His eyes trailed back to her, and he felt his face become hot. How could anything be so perfectly shaped?

The Hurlock took a swing at the girl, missed, then came back with its elbow, hitting her between the shoulder blades and knocking her to the ground. Alistair came out of it and realized perhaps _he_ should join the fighting, too. He roared threateningly and ran down the incline, slamming his shield into the Hurlock a moment before it drove its sword into the girl's neck. She was still on the ground, gasping for air. She must have had it knocked out of her.

Alistair sensed the demise of the other Hurlock at the hands of the other two recruits, and they soon came to help him slay Mangebreath, as he had named the Hurlock he was fighting. He liked to name them – it helped him remember them later. Like a trophy wall. Only in his mind. He snorted as Mangebreath dropped to the ground, dead. Like he'd want to hang the real thing on the wall, anyway. Phew. What a stench!

Daveth kneeled beside Rowyn. "You okay?"

She glanced up at him, then to the side. "_Fine_," she wheezed. "_Damn what-do-you-call-those-things-again?"_

"Hurlocks. As in, their stench makes you want to hurl," Alistair interjected, grinning. He cleaned his sword and sheathed it, holding out his hand to her. She snorted in amusement at his comment, but ignored his hand.

"You know, missy, you should wait for the rest of us before charging in like that. You're going to get yourself killed for sure!" Ser Jory scolded.

Rowyn just cast a sidelong glare at him and rolled over, pushing herself to her feet. "Do not – _unh_ – do **not** call me 'missy'!" she growled, standing up not-quite-completely.

Ser Jory raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

Alistair remained silent. He couldn't blame her for being a bit bristly. Duncan had told him about her parents and where she'd come from. "Alistair, she's going to be a leader someday. But, she's been through a lot. I saw what she went through at that castle, and it would not have been easy for anyone..." His eyes had traveled off, to that time and place, and darkened. "She's still healing. See if you can bring her out of her thoughts – be kind to her. Be gentle with her." Alistair had bowed his head in acquiescence, "Of course, Duncan." He had been trying to get her chatting out here in the Wilds, but the only effect it seemed to have is a smile here and there from Rowyn, and a lot of his own voice filling his ears. Well, he was used to that, he supposed.

Besides, Ser Jory did get on one's nerves. For Light's sake, Jory could barely hide his nervousness with his complaints about their tasks . . . Rowyn had attempted to soothe Jory with reasoning several times today. No wonder she prickled at his patronizing tone. She had twice the guts that fool did.

"Alright, folks. I think it's time to make camp," he said, glancing at the setting sun. "Let's find a low place, somewhere with a wall or protected side that we can make a fire."

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><p>The small fire crackled, giving comfort to those huddled around it. Daveth was entertaining the others with stories of his escapades in the city. He escaped punishment for his sundry petty crimes in so many amusing ways, Rowyn couldn't decide whether that made the stories more or less believable.<p>

"… and then I said 'Ma'am, if I had wanted a slow and painful death, I'd have eaten your mincemeat and left the rest!'" Daveth said. Alistair roared with laughter. "She was in such a fury she didn't see I'd lost the ropes. I was out of there before she could make good on her promise."

"….heh, heh, whoooo," Alistair said, wiping a tear from his eye. "Well as much fun as this is, you all should get to bed. It will be a hard day tomorrow and I want to make good time. I'll stay up and keep watch."

Jory and Daveth sidled off to their bedrolls. Rowyn lingered, looking a little abashed. "I – Would you mind if I stayed up for awhile? I don't think I can sleep just yet."

"Uh, sure," Alistair stuttered, "I mean, no, I don't mind. But, wow, the way you went after those Darkspawn today, I'm surprised you didn't keel over hours ago! You do realize that Cailan will be VERY disappointed if you scare the whole horde away before he can have a good, bloody battle?" he joked.

Rowyn cracked a smile and laughed softly. "Well, I guess I had a lot of pent up energy. It felt good to be out there, fighting. But I'll be sure to leave a few of them for Cailan's army."

"That's right, we mustn't be selfish, now, must we?" he said in a mock-patronizing tone.

"Really, though," Rowyn said, apologetically, "I'll go easy tomorrow. I know I should wait for the rest of you guys – _phah_! I've been going against all of my training. I haven't been focused, and I know I'm more likely to get hurt that way. Or get others hurt."

"Don't worry about it. If it had been a problem, I would have said something."

Rowyn nodded and stared up at the sky for a moment. "So, tell me more about this Joining ceremony. What's the blood for?"

"Oh- it's so exciting! We strip down to our underclothes and paint ourselves with it, then dance around the bonfire singing the secret chant of the Grey Wardens! It is really a hoot."

"Uh – huh," said Rowyn, skeptically. "And how is it that the Joining is such a secret with all that racket?"

"Well, that's part of the magic, you see."

"Ah. Does Duncan join in?" Rowyn played along.

"Well, yes, most certainly. Oh, let me tell you, he is just _fantastic_ at ritual chanting. He didn't become our leader for nothing!" Alistair burst out laughing. "Okay, okay, I'm joking. Ah, that WOULD be good, wouldn't it – seeing Duncan dancing around a bonfire, chanting. But no, really . . . I'm not allowed to say much about it."

"You can't tell me _anything?_"

Alistair grew serious. "You'll see soon enough. Just make sure you are serious about becoming a Grey Warden before then. It is a deep and binding commitment. You can't just walk away." He stared into the fire, silent for awhile.

Rowyn absorbed this. She didn't know that she had a choice. Her place with the nobility was as good as gone, her family dead or missing. And she owed Duncan. She could seek out Arl Howe on her own, she supposed. But that was purely a selfish act, especially on the cusp of a Blight. Yet ... couldn't she just fight Darkspawn after killing Howe? Why did the Grey Wardens need her so much?

"I've been meaning to ask – I don't know much about the Grey Wardens. Why are they so special? What gives them the ability to end the Blight?" Rowyn questioned Alistair.

"Grey Wardens are warriors beyond equal," Alistair replied proudly. "Because of our ability to sense Darkspawn, we are better equipped to hunt them down and kill them than anyone else. And, they've got decades of knowledge about the Darkspawn and know exactly how to kill the Archdemon and end the Blight."

Rowyn pursed her lips and nodded thoughtfully, then hastily stood up. "Well, I think I will be going to bed now. Please wake me if you need someone else to stand watch, Alistair."

"I appreciate that, Rowyn," he said sincerely, surprised at her selfless offer. "I hope you sleep well. Good night."

"Good night." She settled down into her makeshift bed, staring at the sky. She did not sleep well at all.


	4. The Fever Breaks

Rowyn woke up the next morning, her decision made. She would slip away from the party after they'd accomplished what Duncan had asked, slip away and go north, out of Ostagar and the Wilds. They would not suffer greatly for lack of one person, surely, and yesterdays' fighting had ignited a flame inside her heart that was now uncontrollably roaring through her veins. Her anger and sense of betrayal and _hatred_ had risen with every new foe – but not with respect to the Darkspawn. It was **Howe** whom she loathed, and she knew no other way to quench that loathing than to hunt him down and make him pay.

They packed up the little gear they had and headed off again. She knew she should feel bone-weary, having gotten only a few hours of sleep last night, but the truth was, she was full of nervous energy. She didn't know what Duncan and the Grey Wardens would do, since she'd promised – or rather, her father had promised – her service to the Wardens. Would they hunt for her? She would guess not. Not until after the battle, at least, and she would be well on her way by then. 'I hope you understand, Father. Please forgive me,' she prayed.

"So are you gonna leave some Darkspawn for us to kill today, Rowyn?" Asked Daveth cheerily. Jory snorted.

"It depends how many there are," Rowyn cast. "I'm aiming for fifteen. You can have the rest." Daveth grinned. They'd only seen a score of them yesterday, and that was terrifying enough.

"Well, you just may get your wish," Alistair muttered distractedly. "I feel them strongly; probably means there's a bigger group ahead. Maybe someone should go check it –"

A rogue appeared out of nowhere and went for Daveth's back. Alistair turned just in time to hit it with his shield, knocking it down. The group jumped into motion. Another rogue appeared; Rowyn whirled to attack it, letting the others keep busy with Rogue One.

"Daveth, go up the hill cover us with your bow!" Rowyn yelled as more enemies appeared.

Out of breath, Daveth stopped to say, "But – "

Rowyn was concentrating on the last – hopefully – few killing moves with her rogue and didn't answer.

Alistair yelled, "Just do it! Go, cover us!" and Daveth went. He was a better shot than the others, and hit his targets – most of the time.

"We've got to keep them between him and us!" Rowyn yelled to Alistair, who nodded. They did their best to herd the Darkspawn around, keeping their backs to Daveth. It seemed to work – they weren't all that intelligent and seemed to be interested in Alistair and Jory more than the archer. Soon, they were all twitching in a pile.

The three fighters were out of breath. "That's a lot of blood!" Alistair exclaimed. "Thankfully, mostly theirs." Daveth trotted down to join them.

"That was more Darkspawn in one go than we saw most of the day yesterday! Maker! It's getting too dangerous; we're too far in. We shouldn't be out this far!" Jory chattered. Rowyn grit her teeth. Jory was really getting on her nerves.

"Duncan wants us to get these documents for a reason. He wouldn't have sent us into danger needlessly. We will be fine – just keep on your tippy toes and be ready," said Alistair, just a bit tiredly. He could feel more Darkspawn in the vicinity but knew it wasn't anything they shouldn't be able to handle.

They continued walking. Alistair fell into stride beside Rowyn. "That was good leadership, back there. Have you been in charge of troops before this?"

Rowyn blushed. "No – I, I just said it, that's all. It seemed like the obvious thing to do."

Alistair grunted. "Well, it was good timing. With any more moves like that, you'll be sure to be a favorite with the Wardens."

Rowyn's blush deepened, her eyes dropped to the ground. He wasn't going to make leaving easy with talk like that.

The rest of the day was hard work, hard fighting. The horde was appearing more often, and thicker. They were attacked by wolves just before lunch, a whole pack of them – that was interesting. It wasn't often that wolves attacked armed and uninjured groups. The Darkspawn must be behind their desperation, invading their hunting grounds and making them feel threatened.

She tried to keep her mood light, though she felt a small amount of terror about her plans. . . about breaking her promise, and sneaking away, and how hard it would be to get out of here on her own considering how difficult it was with three other people to help with the fighting. Still, she made sure to remark upon a nice maneuver by Ser Jory and Daveth's good aim. As for Alistair, it seemed easy to fall into leading the group alongside him, instead of being led by him. Together, they made comments and forged strategy for each burgeoning fight. She found they agreed most of the time, and that made it quite easy to keep from stepping on his toes.

And then, at the end of the afternoon, they came upon a horrifying scene. They were following the hint of a path down a small valley. Stone walls sloped gently up on either side of them. In front of them – the scent reaching them before the sight – a tree that had fallen across the valley, and from it the bodies of apparent civilians, hanging and mutilated.

Their faces - those who still had faces - were pulled back in grimaces. Their fingers and limbs ended in jagged bloodied stumps, and it was obvious they had been gnawed upon. Some of them were ripped open at the gut, their innards spilling out and swaying in the breeze. There were four women, one old man, and two children, as close as they could tell.

"Oh…" Rowyn whispered. She covered her nose and mouth with her hand, but she couldn't escape that horrible, rotting smell. She ran over to the wall and vomited. She thought she heard someone else doing the same – Jory, perhaps.

"Poor sots," Alistair murmured. "Probably chasind folk. Left out here with no protection. May they find peace in death."

"Chacent?" Ser Jory questioned weakly.

"Chasind. Folks living here in the Wilds, away from civilization. They're said to be a primitive people. I haven't met any, myself. In any case, they deserved this no more than the rest of Ferelden will if we can't stop this Blight. Maker help us," Alistair imparted.

The four stood silently in contemplation of their world being overrun by the horde.

"My wife wasn't happy when I left to join the Wardens," Ser Jory said, quietly. "She was afraid for me, I think. Seeing this makes me more afraid for her. Maker, I miss her."

Alistair nodded as if in response to his own thoughts. "Let's hope we can stop this Blight now. Before more die in such a fashion. Come, we should be close to those ruins." The group stirred back into action, giving the bodies a wide berth.

* * *

><p>They had found the chest that was supposed to contain the documents Duncan wanted, and when they had opened it to find it empty, a witch had found <em>them<em>. Morrigan, she was named.

She walked ahead of them, silently, confidently. She knew the quickest route back to Ostagar's safe walls and though she did not seem pleased to be spending her time thus, she led them through the woods quickly enough. She was sharp – her eyes sharp, her wits sharp, her words sharp. One of which to be cautious - yet Rowyn did not think she was dangerous. To her group, at least.

Morrigan had found them, yes, and led them back to her mother, Flemeth. The men were struck dumb by that name – apparently there was a certain amount of legend surrounding the woman. But, Flemeth had given to them the documents she had been protecting, with no argument or fight, and seemed to not be hostile, if not quite benevolent.

And then the time had come when Rowyn had to make a decision, once and for all. There would be a moment, one small moment, on the way back when she would be able to slip off, and it wouldn't be apparent until it was upon her. She needed to be ready.

Looming before her mind's eye were the images of the Chasind, and Jory's wife, and the people of Ferelden. But screaming inside her were the voices of her parents, her Nan, all those who had lived at Highever and had died … herself included.

The men were laughing at some tale Daveth was spinning, and were distracted. She stepped to the side of the path and let the others pass, kneeling and fiddling with the buckle on the back of her leg guard as though she was tightening it. She could roll into the brush and disappear easily – she'd done it all the time to Fergus, growing up. He'd always claimed she had been no fun to play Hide and Seek with.

But –

Alistair stopped and looked back. "Hey, you coming?" he said in a cheerful voice. "Or are you gonna just stare at the ground all day?" His eyes sparkled warmly, and his face held the same wide, easy grin it always did. The dying sun painted him in its rays, and he appeared to glow golden.

And it suddenly seemed to Rowyn that she had known him for far longer than their three days, perhaps for as long as she could remember; that she knew and understood him - and he, her. And what his eyes said he understood so well was this: _You are a good and kind person, Rowyn Cousland. You love this land, and you love its people. __I__ love this land and its people. We will do whatever we can to keep it safe. We will do it together, side by side. _These silent words echoed in her own heart, reverberating throughout her body. She felt strengthened by his gaze, and in the moment, the choices laid before her combined into one, steel-strong purpose.

And so Rowyn Cousland rose to her feet to follow Alistair to the Joining.

* * *

><p><em>There is more coming! Please leave reviews; I like to learn what I've done well and what I need to improve upon!<em>


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